


In the Wake of the First Date

by Flobbergasted



Category: New Girl
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Episode: s02e21 First Date, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 07:23:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21193847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flobbergasted/pseuds/Flobbergasted
Summary: “That’s it,” declared Nick, smacking his hands down on the kitchen countertop and turning to face the living room. “I call bullsh*t on Russell.”Coda to 2x21, “First Date”





	In the Wake of the First Date

**Author's Note:**

> I do not know what is up with this one. It just came out. 
> 
> Quick shoutout to Schmidt for delivering the BEST line of the episode: “THAT is how you wrap a son-of-a-bitch in wool!” And a second shoutout to my adorable husband person, who said the cutest thing after I made him watch this ep: “Hey, I’m in love with my roommate too!” Couldn’t resist sharing that one.
> 
> Originally posted on Fanfiction.net in 2013  
Reposted here with minor corrections

All strangeness becomes bearable in the light of day. Temptations become manageable, and mysteries more mundane. That which is hidden by night shows itself, or disperses, by day. Such is life.

For these reasons, leaving the safe haven of his bedroom and venturing into the common areas of the apartment was, for Nick, within the realm of the possible, the thinkable, the doable.

* * *

Last night it would have been impossible and unthinkable; last night, after shutting his door behind him, Nick had fought with himself, then berated Jess in his head, then resisted the urge to pleasure himself while thinking about her squishy breasts and strawberry lips, then fought with himself some more, and finally flopped on his bed in an exhalation of energy that at last allowed him to feel safe—safe from himself.

Then, under cover of a darkness that felt wild and dangerous and a moonlight that felt rife with possibility, he had slept.

At around four, he had awoken for no apparent reason and, after tossing and turning for a while, managed to drag himself up and write a few solid pages in which Julius Pepperwood discovered various things about the zombies’ origins and whereabouts. (Turns out all the trouble had started in Reno.)

Then he had slept again, until the streaking rays of sunlight had driven away the anguish. For the most part.

* * *

Nick was especially hungry this morning, after having not really eaten dinner last night, given the bizarro-world date (dates?) that had gone down the previous evening, so foraging for food was to be the first order of the day.

Other orders of the day would probably comprise checking his email to see if anyone had replied to his craigslist ad advertising the junker portapotty, and taking Schmidt’s suit to the dry-cleaner’s, and doing laundry. (He was still kind of digging laundry, as a thing.)

Nick had emerged, making a bee-line for the coffeemaker, to find a quiet apartment. Winston was sleeping, as per his adjusted schedule. Schmidt had gone to the gym, as per his regular maintenance schedule. Jess sat on the couch, surrounded by papers, presumably immersed in marking creative-writing assignments.

She didn’t even turn around to say good morning.

Was she ignoring him on purpose? Surely she couldn’t be _that_ immersed. Surely she could hear him, up and about, clanking mugs and cutlery as he cobbled his breakfast together.

Guess not.

Surely she could hear him _now_, as he neglected to catch a tumbling Tupperware container that became dislodged as he rifled through the fridge for the cheddar.

Nope.

Surely _now_, as he maybe purposefully banged the pots and pans together to retrieve the small frying pan, she would acknowledge his presence.

Nothing.

Well, to that he could only say: no grilled cheese for you, Miss Day.

“No soup for you!” he mumbled sharply.

Still no reaction.

She couldn’t just be ignoring him. This was worse. She was … shutting him down. She was passive-aggressively shutting him down.

He really did hate her a little bit sometimes.

Then again: why _did_ he feel so angry all the time? He didn’t set out to. Maybe another visit to Tran The Tranquil was in order.

* * *

“That’s it,” declared Nick, smacking his hands down on the kitchen countertop and turning to face the living room. “I call bullshit on Russell.”

She did turn and look up at him, then, from her roost on the couch. (At last! It was like a swig of water after wandering in a desert. Those blue eyes, focused on him again. An oasis.) “What? Sorry, I was trying to figure out the answer to a question this student wrote on the back of his paper, about the problem of the unreliable narrator … What about Russell?”

“It pains me to say it, Jessica, because the guy is my pipe dream version of Future Nick, which is itself painful to admit especially given the stark reality that was actual Future Nick, but there you have it: I call bullshit. This is what things have come to.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The guy is full of crap. He said we didn’t know what we wanted. But I got into a damn suit, didn’t I? I got into a suit for you.”

“Then you got out of it. Then back in again.”

“Yeah, well … not the original plan.”

“Was there an original plan? That whole night seemed a bit … helter-skelter.”

“It was only helter-skelter because I was too nervous about my stupid original plan, which was super romantic, which is not usually how I roll. Give a guy a break, jeez, Jess.”

“You had a romantic plan?”

“_Yes_, goddamit. I’m not a _complete_ tool. I just turn into one when you push me over the edge.”

“… Right.”

“Do you want a grilled cheese, or what?”

And there it was, finally: that little smile of hers. “I already ate, but thank you.”

Nick’s outburst evaporated into a laugh, and he carried on with the simple business of living, for the first time that day. He opened the fridge again and began to rummage. “Where’s that salsa we opened last night? I want to put some on this grilled-cheese sandwich.”

But Jess had taken up his torch. “Now that I think about it, you’re right, Nick. I mean, I don’t like that Russell knows more about what we mean to each other than _we_ do. That’s ridiculous. He should not have that power.”

Nick made his way over to the couch, plate in one hand, jar of salsa and a spoon in the other. Jess transplanted a few piles of papers to make room for him next to her.

“He won’t use his power for evil, Jess. He’s a stand-up guy. He’s trustworthy, like a lighthouse.” And then, as if hitting upon the salient point of the morning’s conversation, “The guy is a damn lighthouse in a storm.”

“I guess. What was with Brandi though? Ugh, he can do better.” She paused, and then conceded. “No, that’s not fair; we only met Brandi for like five seconds. She might be brilliant and kind and charitable. She’s probably great. Russell deserves great. And he should know how to find great.”

“He’s done it at least once before,” Nick replied softly … and then realized the implication of what he’d said, and was caught for a moment like a deer in the headlights that were Jess’s eyes, which flashed a glare at him.

“You do realize, Nick, that if Russell is the lighthouse in the storm, then we are the storm.”

“We are not. The whole, crazy world is the storm, Jess. We are just the … ship … wreck … That didn’t end where I wanted it to.”

Jess sighed. “We are a shipwreck, Nick.”

“No we’re not. We’re just a ship. Settle down. We’re a ship. In fact we’re ship-shape.”

“We’re going down, Nick. Man overboard. Women and children to the lifeboats.”

“We’re not a shipwreck, Jess. We’re not, because, fine, we might not know what we want exactly, or what we are to each other when you add it all up, but we can figure it out. We’re adults, Jess. We can take things as they come and figure it out.”

“That’s true,” she said, cocking her head. And then again, almost to herself: “That’s true.” Then, giving Nick another of those little smiles, “It’s okay to not know what I want. It was making me crazy, I think, but I think it’s okay not to know.”

“You know what? That’s the other thing. I _do_ know what I want. I’ve known for a while. I don’t know what I want in the end, but I know enough to get started. I want to go on a date with you. That’s what I meant to say yesterday, before … the fluffy towel, and the … wet …” He could feel himself getting flustered, and he ordered himself to _bring it back, Nick_. He could hear himself sounding angry again, but this time, incredibly, he managed to use it; he channeled it into a firm tone and a steady delivery. “What I meant to say, Jessica, is that you are a beautiful woman, inside and out, and my life has not been the same since I met you, and it would mean a lot to me if you would go on a date with me. And I don’t know what will happen in the future, which does scare me a bit, but I think we could be … really something.”

She didn’t fly into his arms. She didn’t tear her clothes off. She just … smiled, a little wider. Okay, a lot wider.

“Nick … I … would love to go on a date with you. What _I_ know is that _that_ would make me happy.” She paused. (Boy, that smile of hers was really something. And had her eyes gotten a bit watery?) “You know what, though? Let’s do something that we both enjoy—something that isn’t high-stakes or expensive, know what I mean? Let’s just do something where we can enjoy each other’s company, because we are good at doing that already. But it can just be a little more special than usual, you know?”

“That sounds really nice, actually.”

And now they were exchanging a smile. Just like old times. Just like pre-tension times. Well, maybe those particular times didn't exist. But pre-conscious-knowledge-of-tension times had existed. That’s when they had first learned to smile at one another, in fact.

“Nick, could we just … cover one more thing?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Could you please … _not_ touch my boobs whenever you feel like it? I mean, I want you to touch them, which I know you know, and it’s probably why you let yourself do it, but … in the future, could you just … wait until explicitly sanctioned times? Like, sanctioned by me. Owner of the boobs.”

“Oh my God,” he mumbled into his hands as he rubbed them over his face, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t hold back … which is not cool of me at all, I get that. You got it.”

“Thanks. We cool?”

“Cool. All good.”

“So we'll just … stay afloat, for now?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

And there it was. The easy rapport. He knew it had been around here somewhere, just out of sight, underneath the layer of angst that had recently built up.

“Cool,” Nick said, allowing a grin to turn his turtle face upside-down. “… And then one day, we’ll invite Russell to our wedding.”

“Wow, Nick, so much for not looking ahead too far.”

“I’m joking! God.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“Fine, we don’t have to invite him to the wedding. We’ll just name our first kid after him, so that he grows up into a refined, boat-owning, strapping, successful man. Okay?”

“You have got to stop talking.” She was playing distressed, but her irrepressible smile gave her away.

“Oh, don’t get your shorts in a knot,’ Nick grinned. ”I just love Russell a lot.”

“Okay Nick, I’m going to stop you right there, and say ‘thanks for the talk’ because we cleared the air a bit. But I need to get through these papers, for realsies. And Winston is still sleeping, so if you want to keep proclaiming your love for Russell, I suggest you go do it from the literal rooftop.”

“Fair enough. I will get out of your hair. I have laundry to do anyway.”

And then, after what would have been a perfectly reasonable ending to a perfectly pleasant if somewhat revelatory conversation, Nick leaned in for a peck. Just a quick peck. Almost chaste. Joyful. He hadn’t planned it, and he couldn't have helped it.

The best part was, Jess accepted it with the biggest smile yet.

They could stay afloat for a while longer. Long enough to find land, or at least to have an adventure on the high seas. He just knew they could. And that would be enough for now.


End file.
